Putting the Sin in Wisconsin

by Montgomery Maxton

(P)ost (S)cripture: it is our secret, our dirty scandal, our refusal to a paternity test, our first class jet set to a moonlit island for a ‘business meeting’ after a layover at blue grass international i say to you with a sunday evening note from uptown manhattan to the manor of sugar maple trees. if you were the super hero who could fix anyone’s body i would ask you to remove my dependency on gel aids that take me to the sandman, to correct my bleeding kidneys (rub them in your warm hands), to implant a technological device that is fail-safe with assurance that my body remains in strict opposition to alcohol. every night i wake up in a panic, something has gone wrong in my sleep that defies all science of the potent milligrams that put me out at four in the morning to begin with; I wake up in a panic, grab for the empty spot where so many wish to fill, look around swiftly while my face blurs in a fight to remain a solid and the encephalon neurons fire in a dire attempt to bring me lucid. all of my accounts are overdrawn and the account of my body struggles to remain just above surface level zero. our top story tonight: the federal aviation administration has released the chilling black box recording of the crash of flight 5191 that, among others, was carrying a [same-sex polygamy] couple headed to their honeymoon in the tropics – {begin audio voice over with crash scene footage} (inaudible) “are we going down the wrong runway” ((was never said)). 49 of 50 died, the lone survivor remembers nothing, sleeps only on sundays, plays his guitar as perfect as king david picked the harp… and in other kentucky news barbaro has been euthanized and lucky ‘h’ christmas, resident of quality, formerly of Montgomery, has died at seventy-four; he will be buried in the goodwill cemetery in loogootee - take our online readers poll: is the ‘h’ short for halloween?


Montgomery Maxton was born and raised in Ohio. He resides in New York City, unemployed, living off the interest of his millions. He has a magical life. He wakes up in the middle of the afternoon to a unicorn licking his face. He reportedly goes to NYU. He is often spotted in Hell’s Kitchen. He is working on a novel. He writes letters to a murderer that he sometimes talks about on his popular blog that his mother, faint of heart, doesn’t read. He loves talking to total strangers, so say something to him.


Collin said...

Great narrative poem. Quirky and a bit haunted, too. Good stuff, Mr. Maxton.

reynolds said...

Extremely inventive and fun to read. Great work.

Montgomery Maxton said...

thank you collin. thank you reynolds. robert, thank you for posting it.

Robert McEvily said...

My pleasure.